We can't seem to get anough of the Viacom chairman. In the December Vanity Fair, Bryan Burrough gets his chance at dissecting the 83-year-old mogul. The thread of the piece is Redstone's health and mortality. The consensus among those unnamed Hollywood types is that Redstone's firing of the two Toms (Freston and Cruise) was less about substance and more about showing the world that he's still the man - even if his actions might suggest otherwise.

Sitting in a straight-backed chair in the living room, attired in an unfortunate blue plaid jacket and black shoes, Redstone comes across as feisty as he did when he burst onto the financial scene, 20 years ago. But he looks frail and has a senior moment or three, losing his train of thought, repeating stories, and asking that a question or two be repeated. Still, he appears in total command, roundly attacking Cruise and, while emphasizing how much he admires Freston, trashing him nonetheless. He appears in command, that is, until the very end, when he stands to shake my hand and, to my horror, suddenly lurches to one side and begins to fall.

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In person Redstone can be impatient and curt, snapping at waiters and subordinates. During our interview, when his P.R. man tried to correct him, Redstone barked, "Quiet!'' "He's not a man who has many friends,'' another Hollywood mogul told me, "and you know, I see him a lot, and he doesn't know what a real friend is. He has no sense of other people. It's all about him, and it always has been. He has a tremendous ego. But he has no grace. No charm. Really, he's not loyal to anyone but himself. Before [his wife] Paula came along, he was really all alone.''

Ah, Paula - the mysterious ex-school teacher who seems to be around him all the time.

At the heart of Redstone's new life, in fact, is an unlikely love story, one he and Paula haven't discussed publicly until now. It began in 2001. Phyllis lived quietly in Boston, while he worked in New York. During the 1990s, Redstone more or less openly dated other women, notably Christine Peters, ex-wife of producer Jon Peters. Nothing, however, appeared to soften his sharp edges; subordinates viewed him as a crabby old man who scoffed at executives who left before seven at night. A number of associates felt steady companionship might make him happier, or at least make his twilight years less lonely.

One of Redstone's brokers at Bear Stearns, Steven Sweetwood, who supervises Viacom's stock-buyback plans, was ruminating about the situation with another Bear Stearns executive when the second executive mentioned that his wife had a friend, an elementary-school teacher, who had never married. The two Wall Streeters conspired to arrange a blind date.

"Let me tell you the story,'' Paula Redstone says. A slim, attractive brunette, she leans forward on the edge of a sofa to Redstone's left, elbows on knees, as we talk. The two have been inseparable since marrying in April 2003, never spending a night apart. At industry conferences, parties, and just about anywhere Redstone is seen these days, she is at his side. Lately she's even been spotted sitting in on meetings at Viacom, trying to better understand Redstone's business.

For 13 years she loved the work, enjoying a circle of friends who often gathered in her one-bedroom apartment, on East 72nd Street, but somehow she never found a partner in life. "I had a relationship here and there, but, you know, I was just tired,'' she says. "I tried a couple of blind dates, which were disasters. I was happy. I had a great job, great friends. I was fulfilled. When Steven called [about the blind date], I just said, 'No, I'm too tired. Guys in New York are such jerks. They don't pay, they want sex before you even get out of the car.' I remember I actually asked, 'Can this joker even read?' I just said, 'No, I've got to stay home and grade papers.'''

Sweetwood, however, would not be denied. "Let me give you his name,'' he said. "Sumner Redstone.''

"Wait,'' she said, "let me get a pencil.''

"You're kidding, right?'' Sweetwood said. "You don't know the name?''

"He's not a parent at the school, is he?'' she asked. "Because I don't date parents in the school.'' Sweetwood patiently explained that Redstone was chairman of a media conglomerate named Viacom. This meant nothing to Paula. Sweetwood listed Viacom's assets: MTV Networks, Paramount Pictures—all of it. Paula listened, and finally, Sweetwood recalls, "she said, 'For one date, sure.'''

Which is how Paula Fortunato, a person utterly oblivious to the ways of Wall Street and Hollywood, arrived one night at a midtown Manhattan restaurant named Il Postino with only the vaguest idea who her date really was. She was so pessimistic she stuffed extra cash into her purse in case she needed money for a taxi home.

For his part, Redstone says he was intrigued by the idea of meeting a schoolteacher; he says it was about his appreciation for educators, but one suspects the notion of dating someone completely outside his orbit was equally appealing. He was nervous enough that he brought along a Bear Stearns banker and his girlfriend. When Paula walked into the restaurant, "I did take a look at her [and thought], Not bad,'' he recalls. "She talked about her life at school, making $50,000 a year. I didn't know how she could live.'' He found her ignorance of his world enchanting.

"I remember when I mentioned Barry Diller,'' Redstone says, "she asked, 'Is he Phyllis Diller's husband?'''